


no matter where i sleep (you are haunting me)

by SmoakScreen (midwestwind)



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Friendship, Ghosts, Oneshot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwestwind/pseuds/SmoakScreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn't look particularly friendly though, as she crossed her arms and glared at him from her seat.<br/>“This is not your apartment,” she told him, confidently but barely speaking above a murmur. He frowned and stepped toward her.<br/>“Excuse me?” He asked but in the time it took him to blink in confusion, she had disappeared.</p><p>Written for the prompt "ghost/living person au" on tumblr but with slight tweaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no matter where i sleep (you are haunting me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stealthebuttons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealthebuttons/gifts).



> written for my amazing friend beth who deserves way more john/felicity fic than i'll ever be able to provide. also written for an au prompt fill over on tumblr. #41 ghost/living person au. original post: http://felicityssmoak.co.vu/post/97711260665/diggle-felicity-41-ghost-living-person-au-this

John Diggle does not believe in ghosts. To be fair, he doesn't believe in much anymore. Three tours in Iraq and a divorce under your belt will do that to a guy. His ex-wife had sent him a literal Dear John letter during his last tour and the divorce had finalized practically the minute he got state side. He'd found a new apartment in a hurry, going with a cheap one that was said to be haunted. It was fairly new and modern which made the rumors not quite fit the space. He hadn't thought twice while handing over first and last months rent.

In fact, it wasn't actually until two weeks after moving in that the first incident occurred. He walked into the living room one morning, wiping sleep from his eyes while dull dawn light poured in through the windows. He caught a figure out of the corner of his eye and whipped around, expecting an intruder but instead finding a semi-casually dressed young woman in her late twenties sitting on his couch. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail and her bright lipstick stood a stark contrast against her too-pale skin. She didn't look particularly friendly though, as she crossed her arms and glared at him from her seat.

“This is _not_ your apartment,” she told him, confidently but barely speaking above a murmur. He frowned and stepped toward her.

“Excuse me?” He asked but in the time it took him to blink in confusion, she had disappeared and John spent the next week convincing himself he'd imagined it as he played chauffeur to some trust fund brat at his personal security job.

It's another week before he sees her again. This time it's late at night, much later than he usually likes following his clients around but Thursday nights are apparently big party nights in high society. He's brushing his teeth when she shows up behind him in the mirror. He straightens and stares at her, refusing to blink while wondering if he's more sleep deprived than he'd realized. She stares back at him, one hand coming up to rest against her collar bone as if she was going to play with a necklace that isn't there. After a moment of just staring, she speaks.

“You can see me,” her voice is weaker now, gentler. He can only nod as his tooth brush clatters against the sink. She bites her lip and nods to herself.

“Okay,” she murmurs, as if thinking aloud, “that's new. The others couldn't see me.” Her eyes snap back to his, bright and blue and surprising for what he has to assume is a ghost. He stares at her in the mirror, too afraid she'll disappear again if he takes his eyes off her long enough to turn around.

“So, why can you?” She asks, as if he'll have the answer, but she rushes on without an answer, gesticulating wildly. “The others couldn't see me, they'd just get freaked out when I'd accidentally walk into things or knock drinks over or whatever. I'm really clumsy. They'd call me ghost but..” She trails off, wide eyed, as if she's scared herself with that train of thought. She gets quiet for a long moment, staring past him at her own reflection in the mirror. He wonders if ghosts can see their reflections but she's so focused on the right spot he thinks she must be able to.

“I don't think I'm dead,” she says suddenly, quietly, and he tears his eyes from her in the mirror to turn to her but, like he'd feared, she's gone before he makes the full 180 degrees. John stares at the little corner of the bathroom she'd been inhabiting for the time being before tugging open the bathroom door, drying toothpaste and dropped toothbrush forgotten, and heading for the living room.

“Hey!” He calls out, spinning around in the middle of the room. “Come back, okay? What do you mean you don't think your dead? That doesn't-” He stops when he catches a blur of pink and spins back around to face the woman again. She's standing a few feet from him looking shell shocked and confused. He feels bad for shouting and continues on gently.

“Why don't you think you're dead?” He asks, taking a cautious step towards her. She hesitates and her hand comes back up to her collar bone.

“I..,” she begins quietly, “I don't feel dead. I don't remember dying or anything. I mean, my memory has been a bit fuzzy since this whole thing started but you'd think I'd remember something as big as dying.” He watches her as her eyes move wildly about the room as if she's seeing it in a new light but when they meet his again they're shining with tears.

“You have to find out what happened to me,” she pleads before disappearing again. He's too stunned to call out for her again and in the morning he finds his toothbrush back in the proper place and the cap on the toothpaste.

After that, he doesn't see or hear from her for a while. He tries calling out for her but she doesn't appear. He begins going through the furniture that had come with the place, trying to decide what could be put in storage and replaced with new stuff. At the bottom of a drawer he hadn't had use for yet, he finds a gold chain with a small purple stone hanging from it. He sets it aside without second thought.

A few weeks later, he runs into his landlord in the lobby and stops her.

“Hey, uh, my apartment,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “who lived there before the last couple?” The woman sighs and puts her hand up in front of her.

“It's _not_ haunted,” she insists. “Those people were hearing things. It was ridiculous!” He puts his hand up to stop her.

“Hey, no, nothing like that. I'm just curious. I found something I think might belong to them,” he explains, thinking of the necklace hanging from his mirror and making him look like a high school girl. His landlord – he thinks her first name is Kate – looks instantly relieved at this.

“Oh,” she breaths, putting a hand to her heart, “yeah, I think you can probably just toss it or keep it. Whatever you want.” He frowns at this.

“Why? Don't you think they'll miss it?”

“Doubt it,” she shrugs, “Felicity, the girl who used to live there, was in some freak accident on her way home from work about a year ago.” John's heart tightens in his chest as he waits for her to continue. When she doesn't, he raises his eyebrows at her.

“So, she's dead?” He asks, ignoring how choked his voice sounds.

“What?” Kate asks, looking up from the papers in her hands, “Oh, no. I don't think so. Last I heard she was in a coma at Starling General but her family couldn't afford to keep her apartment. They figured they'd figure it out when she woke up.” John nods and Kate turns to leave, still focused on the paperwork she's flipping through. He turns and presses the button for the elevator, thinking over what he's just learned. When he gets upstairs, he doesn't call out for her, instead he heads toward his room and boots up his laptop, opening a search. He decides to just try something generic.

_Felicity + Starling General + coma + accident_

The terms only pull up a few specific results with the right dates. He clicks on the article in the local newspaper. The page loads and he skims the article.

_Last night, July 21 st, local woman Felicity Smoak was following her usual route home from her place of employment, Queen Consolidated, [..] At about 9:26 pm a passing motorist saw the guardrail Smoak was walking beside struck by lightning as she stepped too close. The electricity conducted through the metal into Smoak's outstretched hand. [..] Smoak remains in critical condition at Starling General. The family is requesting privacy at this time and declined to make a statement._

Next to the article, a picture of the deformed guardrail Felicity must have been touching at the time. He scrolls down more and there, right beneath the picture, is a photo of a smiling Felicity Smoak. It looks like her employee ID, maybe a few years old, but it's definitely the woman he's been seeing. He looks closer and, around her neck, is the same necklace that is currently catching the light from the window across the room from him. Standing from his desk, he moves toward the necklace, plucking it from it's spot on the dresser and slipping it into his pocket.

Without much thought, he finds himself driving towards Starling General, unsure of what he plans to do once he gets there. Once inside, he asks for Felicity Smoak and is surprised when he's given a room number with little fuss. He takes the elevator up to one of the upper floors and asks around until he finds her room. It's empty and quiet except for the beeping off the machines she's plugged into. He's not sure what he'd been expecting but she doesn't look at all like the woman that had been showing up in his apartment. While the woman had been extremely pale her eyes had always been so bright and she'd seemed so full of life. He supposes that may have been a lot to expect of someone in a coma.

“Who are you?” A sharp voice asks, and he spins to find a woman looking about Felicity's age with dark curls and sharp eyes grasping a coffee cup and staring him down. He looks back and forth between her and the woman in the bed a few times before clearing his throat and coming up with an answer.

“John,” he tells her, opting for the truth.

“Do you know Felicity?” He nods quickly afraid any hesitation will give him away.

“We'd met a few times,” he explains, “I only just heard about the accident. I was away for a while.” The woman seems to accept this as she nods and then her shoulder sag a little.

“I'm Laurel,” she tells him, “and I'm sorry I don't have better news for you.” John frowns at this and Laurel motions with the hand holding the Styrofoam cup toward the door. John follows her out into the hall and waits as she seems to gather herself. He suddenly realizes that she appears to have been crying recently and doesn't look as if she's gotten much sleep in a while.

“Felicity's been my best friend since high school,” Laurel explains, “so, forgive me if I get a little emotional. The, uh, the doctors aren't very optimistic about her waking up. They've given her much longer than they usually give comatose patients and they're saying,” she chokes a little on the words, staring down into her coffee cup, “they're saying her mom should think about pulling the plug.” John's chest tightens as he remembers how scared Felicity looked in his living room, insisting she wasn't dead.

“When?” He croaks but Laurel doesn't seem to notice, eyes intent on the swirling liquid in her cup. She just shrugs.

“Whenever Donna makes the decision.” John stops breathing for a moment as he lets that sink in. Laurel clears her throat and tosses her head back, curls bouncing around her shoulders.

“Thanks for letting me know,” he says quietly and Laurel nods. She thanks him for stopping by and heads back into Felicity's room as he heads backs towards the bank of elevators. When he arrives home, he immediately begins calling out for her.

“Felicity,” he yells, reaching the living room, and she's already sitting there on the couch. Her ankles are crossed and her hands, usually in motion, rest in her lap. He moves towards her, dropping down on the couch next to her.

“So,” she begins quietly, eyes trained on her hands, “am I dead?”

“Not yet.” Her head snaps up, and she stares at him wide eyed. “You were in an accident. You're in a coma at Starling General, you can still save yourself. But if you don't wake up soon the doctors are trying to get your mom to pull the plug.” She shakes her head vigorously, reaching again for her throat and making him think of the necklace in his pocket.

“I don't know how,” she insists, fearfully. “I don't know how to make myself wake back up.” John pulls the chain from his pocket and dangles it between them. Her eyes lock on it and he knows he's made the right assumption.

“You have to,” he tells her. She reaches for the necklace and it sways at her touch but won't stay in her hand. She shoots one more fearful glance at him and disappears.

He doesn't see her again for days and he's too much of a coward to search her name and find the worst. He continues on as normal as he can manage. His ex-wife starts sending boxes of stuff he doesn't want anymore to him and he immediately puts them in storage. After a month, he's labeling another box to go to his storage locker when there's a knock at the door. He tosses the Sharpie to the side and heads for the front door.

He gasps when he realizes what he's seeing. Felicity stands in front of him in a purple pea coat and red lipstick, her ponytail much less messy than the last time he'd seen her. He just stares at her for a minute before she gives him a hesitant smile.

“Thank you,” she whispers emphatically before practically throwing herself into his arms. He hugs her back fiercely and they stand in his doorway clutching at each other for a few minutes as if they weren't basically strangers before he finally pulls himself from her, digging into his pocket and holding up the necklace. She trails her fingers along the chain and turns so he can clasp it around her neck. Her hand immediately comes up to her collar bone to finger the purple stone as she turns to him.

“I knew you could do it,” he tells her and when she breaks out in the first smile he's ever seen from her, he can't help but grin back.

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, it ended up taking on more of a Just Like Heaven-vibe. So, sue me.


End file.
